


The Voice in His Head, Book One of the Aether Cycle

by jldew



Series: The Aether Cycle [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: And Now For Something Completely Different, Cyberpunk, Faeries Made Them Do It, Magic and Science, Steampunk, Time Travel, Urban Fantasy, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29414610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jldew/pseuds/jldew
Summary: Diamonds and deals are currency, and the devil is in the details…Stephen Bonaparte is a boy with a voice in his head. Stephen (and the voice) want to escape from the orphanage and the abusive nuns that hurt him because of his green hair and untrained magical abilities. After Stephen is adopted by the mysterious Bethany Andrews he is thrown into a magical world where diamonds and deals are currency, and no one is safe.After his adoption ritual, and a kidnapping attempt, Stephen utters a prophecy.The lowborn children shall come, winter will guide them.The children of space and time will hide them.The queen of summer will find them, and the golden kingdom will bind them.Now, Stephen must discover the meaning of this Prophecy, and the origin of the Voice, while surviving the dangerous world he finds himself in, or die trying.The Voice in His Head is available on Audible and iTunes.
Series: The Aether Cycle [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160819
Kudos: 1





	1. Prayers to the False God

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this is a completed work. I'll be posting each chapter on a week to week basis. If you'd like to skip the wait, _The Voice in His Head_ is available on Audible and Amazon. Please consider supporting me on Patreon creative criticism is always welcome.

February 9th, 1925

Saint Michael’s Home for Boys

Hampstead, London.

I was a quiet child growing up. The nuns found me one morning on the doorstep on a January morn in 1915, or so they told me. From the time I was an infant, I knew I was different.

When I was younger, before the abuse began, the Nuns would talk about the golden rule. That we needed to treat each other as we wanted to be treated. I, personally, did not believe that first part. I knew I was meant for more than dreary orphan halls, secondhand clothes, and a greatness few of these brats would know. I knew this because the little voice told me. The voice didn’t talk to me all the time, and sometimes went months without even interacting with me. But, it did give me impressions about my surroundings and the other orphans.

This meant that I preferred exchanging feelings with the little voice instead of talking to the other orphans. When the voice was silent, I would practically live in the library.

The little voice had taught me to read by the time I was three. It also acted as my conscience of sorts, teaching me when I should and when I shouldn’t do something.

The Voice didn’t speak to me, no, it just gave me impressions. Wrong and Right, feelings that felt like praise, and joy when I was doing things properly. These feelings helped me, and gave me something to hold on to as the Voice came and went as I got older.

My social reclusiveness led me to be bullied by the other children at the orphanage. There were a few moments that stood out. The first was the week Tommy Michaels killed my pet.

I had a hamster, the nuns allowed us to keep small animals in our rooms as long as we kept their cages cleaned and fed and watered properly. Tommy was a vile child. We had never gotten along, and when I was seven, my hamster escaped. It returned to me piece by piece. His legs, one after the other. Then his torso. Day after day. Until one morning I woke up to his furry brown head on my nightstand. That morning at breakfast his smirk told me everything I needed to know.

That day, in our playroom, Tommy taunted me about the death of my furry companion. I proceeded to lose my mind. It felt like a dam burst somewhere deep inside me. A wave of light surrounded my palm, and a shimmery blast of emerald light exploded out of it. Tommy was catapulted into the wall of the playroom and fractured his leg. I was sent to bed without dinner. The Voice had wanted me to kill him.

The next morning, I looked in the mirror. I noticed that my normally blue eyes had turned a startling bright, vibrant green overnight. When the nuns noticed, that was the first time I was locked in a closet and forced to pray for my sins. For my eighth birthday, I had my first exorcism performed on me. For Tommy’s, he got adopted.

I found out after some experimentation, that I could make things happen. I could levitate and move objects with my mind. I could force someone to tell me the truth and knew when they were lying.

I had learned to read early, and frequent trips to the library led me to discover and cultivate a passion for reading. I dove into the classics and the new. I was particularly drawn to fantasy novels for some reason. I knew what I could do was magic, or something similar. The Voice had told me this, and it was always right.

Those works of literary masterpieces, and a restless urgency from the Voice, gave me an impetus to learn all I could about my new abilities. It all made sense, from a literary perspective. I was the downtrodden orphaned magic user. Voice was my version of the Blue Fairy. Of course I’d be the hero in my story.

Meanwhile, as I practiced my newfound abilities, my hair changed from blond to the same emerald shade of green.

The nuns took offense to this, they called me a devil, or a demon; Insisted on praying over me and forced me to learn their scriptures in hopes of drawing out the demon they swore lived in my body.

This might have been a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I drew special motivation for training when they screamed Exodus 22:18 in my face.

My life became hours locked in a closet that was barred with planks, or chairs. Filled only with mental conversation. That was more me talking and the Voice giving impressions of sadness and helplessness that only served to add to my drive to train, to become more powerful. This was how my life was for those three dark years.

I’d attend the trivially easy school they had in the mornings. Then, I spent my afternoons having the bible literally pounded into my skull on a few occasions, and my evening’s were passed by sneaking out to the small green grove near the woods, experimenting with my magic or powers. I’d earned quite a few scars over the years from the nun’s tender mercies, and slowly, began to resent them and the religion they tried to literally cram down my throat. I certainly wasn’t the only orphan they did this too, but I was definitely one of their favorites.

One day, I had enough of the endless lectures, of being locked away for hours, or deprived of meals for some perceived slight against their God. The Voice was urging me to get me-us out of this mess. When the nuns decided they had enough of my “devilry” and decided to lock me in the prayer closet overnight one evening, I turned the tables on them. I broke the ropes they had bound me with. Then I locked them in the small room where I’d spent so many hours forced to pray to a deity, I frankly had my doubts about. Usually they left me with a candle. I didn’t grant them that luxury. I forced my magic to hold the door, and then let them stew for a few hours. They stopped trying to “convert” me after that, and I was allowed to eat on a fairly regular schedule.

This continued until shortly after my tenth birthday. It was Monday, and I had settled into the library. My homework was arrayed before me, and a day of pretending to care about basic sums and Latin awaited me. Some things, I instinctively knew, or the Voice did. I wasn’t sure which.

That was where Sister Agnes found me. She approached me as she always did, an aged leather hand clutching a wooden crucifix attached to the matching rosary in one hand. A glare on her face, and a murmured prayer on her lips. She was one of the oldest nuns at the orphanage and was convinced that I was the devil incarnate. She was one of the nuns that had led the crusade to remove the so-called demon from beneath my skin. “Good day sister, what prayer are you muttering to the false god today?” I asked with a sneer. Okay, so I’d learned to play up to the sisters. Sue me.

“Stephen, there’s someone here to see you.” She said, a look of fear on her face. Her back was straight, and her posture stiff. I looked up from my compendium on Latin. That was certainly odd. I had no known associates in this life. I also knew that I was growing into the age where it would be harder for me to be adopted. I wasn’t concerned with that reality. I had my own plans for what life would entail after I aged out of this place, if not earlier.

“A prospective mother.” The nun said.

“Just the mother? Where's the father?” I asked.

“He’s attending to other matters. You’ll only be meeting the mother today.” She replied.

“Come on boy, before I drag you by the ear.” She said, and I closed my book.

“I’d like to see you try, sister.” I rebutted, and smirked at the glare she sent me.

I followed her into the office that the nuns used for administration. Mother Superior sat at the front of the desk, and seated in front of it was my prospective parental unit. I took a seat, and Sister Agnes left.

The woman was dressed casually, in a dark blouse and skirt. Her hair was pulled up in a severe bun. She didn’t wear much jewelry. A string of pearls, a single diamond ring on her ring finger, and another ring on her pinkie. When she turned her gaze on me, I instantly felt a tingle come across my skin. I could feel the magic practically pouring off this woman. It was the first time I’d met someone else magical, and a weight I didn’t know I carried felt like it was lifted from my shoulders. The Voice was excited too.

“This is the boy?” She asked. Her tone was grim.

“Yes, just as you wanted, an older child, independent. Smart.” The nun said. The woman sniffed.

“His hair?”

“Not a clue. The boy is quite adventurous. He just showed up one morning with his hair like that. Don’t worry, he won’t be doing that again. ” The nun replied.

“I should hope so.” The women remarked with a murmur. “Stephen, my name is Bethany Andrews. If you’d like, I’d like to adopt you. My husband wants a son, and I am unable to conceive.” She said. Mother Superior gasped, and I gave the matron an innocent look of curiosity. We learned quickly in the orphanage, and I admired Bethany for how blunt she was. I looked into her eyes. There was something about her gaze that seemed to pull me in.

“Careful boy, you might not like what you find if you keep looking.” A voice in my head said. Her voice. I gave her a startled look, and recoiled visibly, almost knocking over my chair in the process, and she smiled softly, a knowing glint in her eyes. I nodded once, and the woman smiled.

“Fantastic!” Mother Superior said elatedly.

“I’m sorry you’re leaving us child, I hope you’ll carry the lessons we taught you in your new life.” I looked at the matron.

“Mother, I appreciate how you’ve treated me over the years, and I hope someone will return the favor to you one day.” I replied with a too-sharp smile. She faltered for a moment before she spoke again. “Good! I’ll fill out the paperwork, while you go pack your things.” She said. I nodded. I knew there had to be other people like me out there, people with magic. There always was in the books, after all. My plan was to find them after I left the orphanage. I needed to learn more about these abilities, how to use more than the paltry telekinesis than I currently had access to.

I went back to my room and grabbed the few belongings that I had. I didn’t have much, a few sets of threadbare clothes. A stuffed bunny and a couple of shells as souvenirs at the beach from the one trip we had made there.

I shuddered as those memories came to the forefront of my mind. Lingering hands belonging to old men who had no place touching younger boys in those places. Memories I squished down. I quickly packed it all in a rucksack and went back to the office.

Bethany had finished the paperwork. She grabbed my hand, and we walked out of the front. A car was waiting for us. It was a gorgeous piece of engineering for the time, painted a shiny silver. I recognized the hood ornament, and realized this car likely cost more than the orphanage’s yearly budget. The rear doors of the car opened, and we got inside. As soon as we settled, the car roared to life and took me away from the dreary orphanage forever.


	2. Fiction is so lacking in this century.

Bethany touched a small button on the door, and a shimmery gauzy haze settled over the car, and soon diminished. The Voice was curious, and it urged me to ask her about that.

“What was that?” I asked.

“It’s a set of privacy spells, anyone who sees the car will see a completely unremarkable vehicle.” She said. Bethany took the ring off her finger. Then, the most startling thing happened: Bethany transformed. Her skin paled until it was almost translucent. Her hair reshaped itself, turning from the severe dark-colored bun to long golden locks of hair. Then her eyes changed from brown to shimmering gold. It wasn’t like her eyes simply changed color, it seemed as though they actually glowed gold. It was like she was looking at me, and she wasn’t. Those eyes were hard to look away from, and I fought against the chill that shivered down my spine. She was looking at my forehead, but her gaze seemed to bore into me. Finally her attire changed. What was once a casual looking blouse and skirt, and sensible shoes was now full, pale blue dress and shiny leather boots. She smiled at me. I was mildly shocked by her new appearance.

“Oh come now child, you didn’t think that you were the only mage out there, did you?” I shrugged. Not from a lack of things to say, but from too many. I did not even know where to begin with that revelation. Even Bethany’s accent changed from the proper London accent I had gotten used to into an almost American twang.

“Well, you aren’t. I’m a mage. My entire House is magical.” She said.

“How did you know how to find me?”

“The governing body of mages, the Council Majeure has an enchanted globe that records magic use, but I had other means.” She replied.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To my townhome in London.”

“What’s a mage?” I asked.

“Honestly, fiction is so lacking in this century.” She muttered.

“I would have to agree,” I murmured. I hoped she hadn’t heard that, and at the same time I wondered what exactly she meant by that, and why I would agree.

“A mage is someone who can channel magic through their body and use it to affect the world around them. Some mages are so powerful they can warp reality around them with a mere thought. I’m not of that caliber, but my mentor was a powerful Lord.”

“A Lord, like royalty?”

“Of a kind.” She replied. We had arrived at the townhome by now. The car took several turns until we drove down an old alley. The car sounded its horn twice, and the brick wall of the alley retracted into the buildings on either side. On every side, there were rows of townhouses. There were children playing on the street. A trio of them were throwing around a ball that changed colors every time it hit the ground and bounced back up. I kind of wanted to go and join them. There were a couple adults floating on brooms. Each house’s exterior was painted brightly. Floating through the park were small swarms of twinkling lights. As we passed the park, I noticed a large mirror in the center of it, and I wondered what that could be.

The exterior of the townhouse we parked in front of was painted a weathered sky blue. We exited the car, and the engine turned off. Its headlights flashed twice, and we walked up the weather-worn stairs. As we came to the door, Bethany touched my shoulder. I flinched away from her hand instinctively.

“Are you okay?” She asked. After a moment, I took a deep breath and nodded. I studied the plate on the door. It was wrought in gold. There was an hourglass, with a stick that crossed and a sword of some kind below it. In an arch, lettering spelled out the phrase Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat.

There was a few awkward seconds of silence, and then she produced a key from somewhere. As she held the key up, a slot appeared on the door, and she unlocked the house. We entered a house that seemed more like a museum than anything. It was brightly lit, and the floor was a polished light ash wood, and the walls were paneled a darker wood. To my left there was a small coat room. There was a ceiling to wall mirror mounted on the wall to my left, past the entrance to the coat room. Next to that, there was a spiral staircase leading to the upper floor, and a regular staircase leading downstairs. To my right, there was a sitting room with a pair of plush black velvet and lacquered couches the same shade as the paneling that populated the walls. On the far right, there was a trio of oil painted portraits.

“Do you want a tour first, or would you like an early dinner?” Bethany asked.

“I think I’d like a tour.” I replied. I wanted to explore every inch of this place. She smiled and nodded.

“To your left is the receiving room, where guests arrive.”

“Guests don’t arrive through the door?”

“Not if they’re welcome.” Bethany replied. We turned right and entered the sitting room. To our left there was a baby grand piano with a bench. I noticed that aside from the portraits, and the wall sconces that glowed with light, there weren’t many decorations. The windows, like the rest of the house, were tastefully, yet elegantly decorated with dark, plus velvet curtains.

“This is the sitting room, which, along with the dining room, becomes the ballroom when there’s a party.” She said, pointing to the far wall.

“How does that work?”

“Magic.” She said, and I glared at her.

“Until you learn more about the world, you’ll get that answer a lot.” She replied. I sighed.

“I guess we’ll have to teach you about magic then.” She said with a smile. We exited the sitting room. As we walked through the house, I noticed Bethany moved with an easy grace the stiff-backed nuns lacked, like a cat on the prowl.

“Where does the second staircase lead to?” I asked.

“That leads to the kitchen.” She said, and I nodded. We passed a pair of closets, and Bethany took me into a dining room. There was a long hardwood table, with enough seats for at least twenty, and the room was decorated almost identically to the sitting room. To our right, there was a closed door.

“Where does that door go?” I asked.

“That leads to the den, and the rear exit to the house.” She said, we walked in an almost half circle and exited out another door. There were a trio of closed doors.

“The door on the far right is a bathroom. The other two doors are off limits.”

“Why?”

“Because I said.” We walked to the other end of the house and walked up the spiral staircase. I noticed that most of the doors were closed, if not locked.

“The library is in front of us. You’re welcome to browse the books there, unless they’re warded.”

“Warded?”

“Protected from anyone without permission to read them. Some of them I’ll unlock for you. Others, well part of the reason they’re locked behind wards is to ensure you can read them.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you can circumvent the spells protecting them, then by all means, read them. Your skill with magic is advanced enough to use them.” She said.

“The room on the right is also off limits. It’s my private study, and I wish for it to remain that way.” The rest of the floor was taken up by bedrooms. The next floor had two bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms on either end. There was a second study, and another room. This one was sparsely furnished. There was a rack of weapons, with everything from bows to guns, and all manner of bladed weapons. A closed door led into another room. At the corners of the room’s ceiling, and the midpoints, there were sconces glowing with lights. There were a series of white lines drawn on the floor. Four thick white lines were the border, with a fifth drawn down the center. Two more thin white lines, followed by a white circle in the center, sectioned the box off further.

“This is the dueling room.” Bethany said.

“The dueling room?” I asked.

“Dueling is as much an art form as it is a way of holding unto traditional societal norms. The school you will be attending has a world renowned dueling team, and I'll be obtaining a teacher for you to learn this.” She said. We left that room, and then we traveled up to the third floor. Bethany turned right, and led me to a bedroom that was the size of three of the shared rooms in the orphanage. The floor was covered in a cream carpet, and the bed was enormous, and covered in comfortable looking pillows.

“There are some clothes in the closet. We’ll go and get more tomorrow. Now, do you remember the way back to my study?”

“Yes.” I replied.

“Good, when you’re ready for dinner, I’ll be in my study.” She said, and then she left.

I withdrew my souvenirs and put them on a small shelf hanging on the walls. I quickly found the closet, a walk in with an island of drawers in the middle. I noticed there were a few things hanging, and a few pairs of pants already on the shelves. These made my meager clothes from the orphanage seem like poorly tailored rags. After walking around my closet for a little while, I walked into a bathroom. The bathroom had a pool that was pretending to be a bathtub, and a localized downpour masquerading as a shower. Oh, I was going to like it here. I showered and enjoyed soaking in the almost scalding water, a far cry from the tepid and sometimes freezing water from the orphanage. I finished my shower, and then after some searching found a towel and bathrobe. I dressed in what was probably my first set of new clothes. I let out a breath and pretended the tears running down my face was water dripping down from my hair. After getting dressed, I walked back down the stairs until I came to Bethany’s study. I knocked on the door.

“One moment!” I heard her yell through the door. She came out a little later. after a moment.

“Sorry, I was returning missives.” She replied.

“What sort of missives?” I asked.

“My House, our House, has a wide variety of business ventures, and we’re involved in the magical government.” She replied. That told me absolutely nothing, but I had just gotten here, and I didn’t want to seem nosy. Even though I really was.

We walked to the dining room and sat down. She sat at the head of the table, and I sat to her right.

“Is it just you?” I asked.

“No. Usually my husband is home and one of our business partners is present. I’ll admit that these absences are partially manufactured. We didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many new faces at once.” She said. A bowl of soup suddenly appeared in front of me. It was a delicious consommé. A glass of white wine appeared at Bethany’s place. I was given water. We ate the soup in relative silence.

“Tell me about the Orphanage, what did you study there?” She asked.

“Math, and English. Your usual school subjects.” I said evasively. I still wasn’t sure whether I could trust her.

“Who was teaching you magic?” She asked, and I almost choked on my soup.

“What do you mean?”

“Child, your hair is green as grass after a summer storm. No one’s aura manifests like that unless they’ve been practicing for years. What have you learned?” She said, and took a drink from her wine glass. We finished the soup and moved into a juicy roast. It was perfectly rare, and served with small whole potatoes that had been lightly seared and seasoned excellently. I watched as the wine glass emptied itself and filled with red.

“You never answered my question.” She said.

“I was self-taught.” I replied.

“Self taught?” She asked, and I nodded in confirmation.

“That’s interesting, I haven’t seen many self-taught mages before. That’s quite dangerous.” She replied.

“The orphanage was a dangerous place.” I replied, turning back to my food. I took another sip of my water.

“How so?”

“I’d rather not say.” I replied. I wasn’t protecting them by any means, I just didn’t wish to talk about that.

“Fair enough. Although, as your guardian, I am going to need to know at some point.” She replied, and I ate in silence.

“Well, what have you taught yourself how to do?” She asked. I looked at my spoon, held out my hand, and willed the spoon to lift. The spoon began floating in the air. Then I closed my eyes in concentration and forced the spoon to twist and turn into itself, until it was more of a metallic corkscrewed pretzel than anything.

“Good job.” She said.“Now, pick up the spoon.” I said, putting just a bit of compulsion into my voice. Usually this had the desired effect of making someone do what I wanted.

“No, I don’t think I will.” She said, and with a wave of her own hand, the spoon blurred and fixed itself. “What else can you do?” She asked.

“I can definitely pick up things bigger than a spoon.” I replied, intentionally being vague, and she nodded.

“Not a lot of pre-novitiate mages can say that. There aren’t even many Journeymen mages that can. Psionic abilities are certainly a skill that we’re going to nurture.” She replied.

“Do you have any abilities like that? Where do you think they came from?” I replied.

“I don’t have any abilities like the ones we’re discussing, my talents lay in other directions. I’m not entirely sure where those kinds of gifts are coming from.” She said, I frowned. I’d gotten a very good sense of truth and lies since I’d begun training that part of my magic. Right now, my magic told me that was a lie. Perhaps a half-truth best.

“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” I asked.

“Everyone always has something they aren’t telling someone.” Bethany replied, and took a long drink of her wine.

“But, there’s something particular you aren’t telling me. Isn’t there?” I asked, intentionally evening out my tone. She sighed.

“Bloody psychics. Not even fourteen, and he’s already getting through my shields.” She muttered.

“Yes, there is.” She said. I sat back in my chair.

“Well, what is it?” I asked. She sighed. We had both finished our food at this point. There were two banana splits melting into a sugary soup. After a moment, Bethany finished her glass of wine.

“I need something much stronger than just wine for this conversation.” She said, and got up from the table, she began walking away.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I’m going to the bar. I’ll be back soon, stay where you are.” She said. After a few minutes she returned, holding a crystalline bottle and a small matching glass. She sat back down, poured herself a long measure of the amber color liquor, and downed it in one go.

“I adopted you because I owed your mother a favor.” She said.

“You knew my mother?” I asked, ignoring the way my voice rose in excitement. Bethany nodded hesitantly.

“Who was she? What was her name?” I asked.

“Didn’t those idiots at that orphanage tell you anything?” She asked.

“No, no they didn’t. There was nothing to tell. I was wrapped up in a blanket, given a small note with my name on it, and left abandoned to the elements.” I replied. I felt my magic rising as anger shot through me. I took a deep breath and clamped down on my magic. I could feel it seething inside of me, ready to lash out, and I could not allow that.

“What happened?” Bethany asked, and I don’t think she was speaking to me.

“What was her name?” I asked.

“Her name was Alexis Bonaparte. She was one of the strongest, if not the strongest mage I’ve ever known. I was her apprentice once.”

“What happened to her?” I asked. “I honestly do not know. I’ve certainly got a few guesses. She went missing after the war, and I’ve spent years trying to track her down. Stephen, I knew your mother. I thought I did at least. I’m not sure why she would have done that. I thought...” She paused and frowned in thought. She leaned back in her chair, and then she refilled the glass.

“Fuck.” She said, after a couple minutes. I thought I saw tears in her eyes, but that might have been a trick of the light. I bit my lip. My mother was someone close to her. I gave her a few minutes to gather her thoughts.

“What war was it? The Great War?” I asked. That would certainly fit. I didn’t realize that women fought in that war, and it was not something we covered in our history classes. It was too fresh in the public’s consciousness to recount, and I understood that.

“After the war, we thought she had perished. I was stationed in a different area, but during a battle. Their ship was attacked. My brother, Stephen, who I’m assuming she named you after, died. We found his body, but we never found hers.” She took another shaky breath.

“Were they married?” I asked. Bethany gave a small snort.

“No. Stephen didn’t prefer women.” she stopped for a second, and then restarted her sentence.

“Well, your mother and Stephen wouldn’t have been compatible with each other. We’ll keep it at that. Not to mention your mother was near twice his age. She was our magic teacher growing up. She taught me everything I knew about magic. How to use it for offense and defense. How to enchant. How to create potions with alchemy. She was an amazing magician. You’ll learn all of this too, some of it when you head off to school. Some of it in the coming four years that I’m going to have you as an apprentice. Do you want to have your first lesson today, or would you like to wait until tomorrow?” She asked. I still had questions, but I was tired.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner. I looked for you both for ages. Lady Alexis was a great friend of my parents.”

“Why couldn’t you?” I asked.

“As I said, Alexis was a powerful mage. She also had a great many enemies. They both did. She wove an enchantment around you to protect you from them. It was a stroke of luck I even managed to find you in the first place.”

“So she left me there to protect me?” I ground out, and I felt my magic rising with my anger once again. This time, the crystal bottle did shatter in a thousand shards. A shimmer of magical energy protected Bethany from any debris, but they still scattered across the room. I distantly realized that I had stood up at some point, as had Bethany.

“Stephen, you need to calm down.” She said. That somehow managed to add to my anger.

“She left me behind!” I shouted. An unseen wind whipped up from nowhere, and I heard the table creak as it was pushed away from me.

“What kind of mother does that! If she was so powerful, she should have taken me with her!” I said.

“I’m sure she did the best she could.” Bethany said, calmly. I heard the table smash into a wall, but I was so focused on Bethany’s words, I didn’t see it.

“The best she could do got me treated like a freak for years! The best she could was BULLSHIT!” I screamed the last part, and I felt my magic lash out. It had been years since I’d had such little control over it, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. I blinked through the tears and bit my lip from outright sobbing. Years of suffering, of torture, because someone did the “best they could”?

“Stephen, calm down.” She said, putting out her hand in a placating gesture, and taking a step forward. My magic flared and pushed back against her. Her shield, or whatever it was held, and she took another step forward.

“Get back!” I yelled, partly as a warning, partly in anger. I wasn’t even sure if I could control my magic at this point. It seemed to have a mind of it’s own, I tried to reign it in but I couldn’t. I quickly moved from angry to scared as my magic failed to listen to me.

“How do I stop this?” I asked.

“Stephen, I’m going to cast a spell. It’s not meant to hurt you, and I swear on my own magic it won’t be permanent, but we need to calm your magic down. What I’m going to do is drain some of your magic out of your core and into mine. Is that okay?” She asked. I took a deep breath, and nodded. She drew a long stick, a wand I assumed, and pointed it at me. A long golden thread attached itself to my wrist and wrapped around it, and I felt my magic slowly bleed away as green light slowly wrapped itself around the string and began traveling towards Bethany. As soon as the storm subsided. I wrapped myself around Bethany, and she returned the gesture after a few seconds.

“Why didn’t she want me?” I asked, half question, half sob.

“Stephen, I wish I knew what her thoughts were. But I’m here now, and that’s all I can do.” Bethany said. I vaguely remember calming enough to wipe my nose with a handkerchief Bethany offered, but I don’t remember falling asleep, or being carried to my bed. That night, I dreamed of blue skies, restless oceans, and a city made of glass.

\This is an already completed work, and each post will be a chapter (or half chapter) of the first book in the Aether Cycle. I'll be posting these chapters every week. If you like what you read, and want to support the author, and don't want to wait please consider purchasing The Voice in His Head from Amazon or Audible, or supporting me on Patreon. You can discuss this chapter below, or in the Discord.


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